


Soft Failure

by CaptainErica



Series: Dares and Disasters [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Pre-Relationship, potions experiments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 08:08:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22846927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainErica/pseuds/CaptainErica
Summary: Hermione hates to fail, even when it's a dare, even when she knew she wouldn't succeed to begin with. No matter the circumstances it grates on her. It grates like Draco Malfoy's annoyance, like the look he gives her afterward like she had hurt him personally and she can't understand why or how.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: Dares and Disasters [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642420
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	Soft Failure

Hermione scowls at the open expanse before her, and then looks back down at the open book sitting beside her on the sarcophagus like grave she was sitting atop. It was probably gauche to be doing so, cross-legged, potions ingredients on the ground along the sides and a very small cauldron before her. She didn’t mind being gauche right now, however, as this was the most practical place to sit while she worked on this.

“Wouldn’t be out here in the first place if…” She mutters, annoyed, though it trails off because there’s no one to listen to her angry mutters. That was the problem with agreeing to something on basically a dare; no one to blame but herself and no one to listen to her either. She doesn’t really know why she agreed to this, because it’s ludicrous, but she had, so she’ll see it through.

A strand of hair slips slowly free of the bun she’d shoved it up into and curls at her temple, but she ignores it for now as it’s not bothering her yet. It is too warm here with the fire and the bubbling cauldron and the heavy, damp warmth of a summer night closing in around her. It is stupid to be out here and stupid to have agreed to try this but…

But Hermione Granger couldn’t ever back down from a challenge, could she? She scoffs at herself as the bubbling potion changes from turquoise to full green; she was such a terrible cliché, wasn’t she? “Ridiculous, absolutely insane.” She mutters, hand hovering over the edge of the sarcophagus to catch the ingredient that floats up to meet it. “Raising the _dead._ ” She adds, the scoff still clouding her voice.

You couldn’t actually raise the dead, though, of this she was fully aware. No, she had learned from Beetle the Bard and understood well the lessons and thoughts on it as a whole. It didn’t mean she wasn’t sitting here with a probably illegal potion brewing in front of her.

It can’t be illegal if no one knows about it, can it?

She’s fairly certain that no one knows about this little potion, at least. It had been in a book, an old book, and while the fact that it was published at some point might make one believe that relevant authorities might be aware of its existence… well, Hermione was fairly learned in the history of publication in the Wizarding world and she was fair confident that published did not necessarily equate to regulated, controlled, or reviewed.

That also meant, of course, that this little potion might horrifyingly backfire on her but…

_“What, you don’t think you can bring back shades of the past?”_

Hermione shakes her head and flicks her wrist, forcing the ladle to stir twice counter-clockwise and then once clockwise. She’s here because of a _dare_ , which is utter lunacy, isn’t it? She’s 23 and a member of the Ministry and she had been goaded into doing something questionably illegal because her abilities had been questioned. It was like she was in school again, really, being told she can’t do something and then not being able to stop herself from trying to do it.

_“Afraid? Surprising, considering everything you’ve done.”_

Hermione shakes her head again, mouth in a firm pout and mind momentarily clearer. The next step for the potion was crucial and required focus, so she couldn’t mentally berate herself over her biggest flaw: pride.

Or maybe her flaw was more nuanced than that, nothing so simple as pride, so broad and general. It was more a thirst to prove herself to—

“And Slytherin will help you on your way to greatness!” she mutters sarcastically. Her flaw, she thinks as she taps the last of the ground beetles into the potion and then tosses the beaker aside, is a very _Slytherin_ trait. She’s always had it, of course, lurking there… Had the Hat known? She wonders idly as she counts ten clockwise stirs and then pulls the ladle out and sets it to the side.

Of _course_ the hat had known. But it had its own agendas, didn’t it? Harry, a Gryffindor through and through, Ron as well, but Hermione?

She leans back on the stone sarcophagus and sighs, her arms holding her up from behind. This was stupid and she knew it, but she was going to go through with it because honestly? Quite honestly she wants to know if she can.

“You couldn’t have conjured a table or something?” A drawling voice says from probably a few rows of graves away. Hermione turns her head slowly, hard to startle after everything she’s been through, and suppresses a glower.

“Whatever for?” She asks, shifting to sit up a little so that she can at least be eye level if this turns into an argument.

Draco looks around, still a row or more away but coming steadily closer. “I don’t know, respect, maybe?” He counters, and she shrugs, unworried.

“There are so many Smith’s.” She says, an air of the unworried about her. She hadn’t ever been very superstitious and didn’t plan to become so anytime soon; something she knew irked Draco Malfoy to no end. “I’m sure that sitting here is far less disrespectful than what I’m _doing_ here anyway.” She adds, eyebrow raised a touch.

Draco’s lips curl a little in distaste, maybe, she can’t really tell from here. “It’s almost vulgar, Granger, flaunting your lack of propriety like this.” He’s made it to the edge of her row now and so pauses. She recognizes trepidation, a little fear; he always had been a bit of a scaredy cat.

“Oh please, Malfoy.” She says, shaking her head and leaning forward to check her potion. “You didn’t think I’d do it, and here I am.”

He scowls, which she doesn’t notice because she’s focused on the slow change from mottled brown to an almost see-through green in the potion. “Honestly, Granger you-“

“Hush, it’s ready and your nasally voice might put it off.” She says, cutting him off and not at all interested in what he was going to say about her anyway.

Draco huffs in indignation but goes silent, well aware of how finicky potions and spells could be. He watches intently as she levitates the cauldron and slowly tilts it over to pour into the earth. They both wait a beat, watching, and then Hermione waves her hand and her things start to pack up.

“Well, I suppose…”

But she trails off because the ground starts to shake, or it seems to, everything getting wavy in her field of vision and she can hear Draco shouting _something._

“Get off of there!” Draco shouts, much closer now, tugging her out of her cross-legged perch atop the sarcophagus style tomb. He looks terrified, not a good look on him, as she stumbles to a stand beside him.

The ground around the grave was definitely shaking, and _something_ was happening. But then, quite suddenly, Hermione is jerked out of the way and to the side and she feels the familiar pull of apparition at her naval.

When they stop spinning and Hermione’s feet are firmly on hard ground, she pushes back from Draco. “What did you do?” She asks, accusatory, eyes alight with something close to fury.

Draco doesn’t back down, though clearly still shaken from the occurrence. “You could have been hurt, daft woman.” He spits back at her, and even though she can see the worry in his face, she remains annoyed though the heat of it dies down.

“Or we could have just left my _experimental_ potion to wreak what havoc it may on any unsuspecting wanderer into that graveyard.” She says, hands moving to her hips, stance strong and unyielding.

Draco rolls his eyes, something only he can truly get away with doing without it seeming overly childish. “Ah yes, please ignore that I could have just saved your life in favor of being worried about things I’m sure you thought about ahead of time.” He says, scowling at her a little.

It looks more like a pout, she thinks rather errantly before catching herself in that thought. “Still.” She says, because he’s right of course and that’s annoying. “Still you needn’t have… where _are_ we?” She asks, looking around more properly now, arms relaxing from their tensed posture.

Draco shifts, holding onto his pout even as he seems to get a little uncomfortable with her perusal. “My flat.” He says; _obviously_ it sounds like.

She nods at this, accepting, looking around a little more until he gets uncomfortable enough at her looking that he grabs her hand like he means to pull her back to him.

“You’ll be wanting to go back, I assume?” He asks, like he’s covering for his reaction just then, voice a little tight and a little haughtier than he’d been just moments before.

“Obviously.” She says, a little simply, considering him a moment before she pulls her hand from his grip. “I’ll be back in a flash, hm? If you’re worried, that is.” She says, eyes dropping into a teasing look as she steps back from him.

His scoff is a little softer than she expects it to be, and maybe softer than he expects also, “An owl will do.” He says, though he seems to fidget as he says it and it makes Hermione grin internally.

A second later she’s back in the graveyard.

Nothing seems to have changed, though her things are strewn about. She does a few spells to check for life forms, or even ghosts and spirits, but comes up with nothing. “A waste of my time.” She says, noting that she’d only been away for a minute at most and so if anything _had_ happened, she should still be able to see it.

With a cluck of her tongue and a wave of her wand, she cleans up the supplies she’d had to leave when Draco had unceremoniously apparated her away moments previous. The vials and glasses settle neatly into her bag, and her cauldron cleans itself out before shrinking to fit into her bag as well.

“Perfect.” She says, then shakes her head and sighs. She had known the potion wouldn’t work on an intellectual level, but it is still a little sad. She hates failing, even when she knows she’s going to.

“Next time…” She says to herself and the sarcophagus-like tomb of Mr. Somebody Smith, before shaking her head at herself. There would be no _next time_ for this little endeavor, and that is okay.

She looks around again, and then shakes her head and disapparates.

On Monday morning, bright and early, Draco Malfoy barges into Hermione’s relatively tiny office on level 4. She isn’t meant to entertain visitors, or talk with people, that’s not the point of her position and so her office is reflective of her not needing the space. So when Draco Malfoy pushes the door open and shuts it brusquely behind him, Hermione looks up from her desk and is reminded of how very much taller than her he is, and how extremely unsuited for guests her tiny office is.

“No need to knock.” She says, automatic, dry. Draco sniffs, looking down at her over his pointed nose almost before looking to the side as though he were trying to find something to sit upon.

Finding nothing he sighs and the look of haughty loftiness disintegrates. Hermione watches with soft amusement, wondering what he might think about her tiny, parchment and folder strewn office. He is, as ever, a sight to behold, even if it’s a ridiculously puffed up sight.

“No need to offer a seat to your guest, then.” He says, and Hermione shrugs, sitting back from her desk and crossing her arms a little, hair mostly gathered up away from her face. “Right, well, I see you’re alive.” He adds, and Hermione cocks an eyebrow.

“You came here to see if I was of the living?” She asks, confused mostly, and keeping her amusement very firmly in check. When he simply shifts a little in agitation, she allows herself a soft laugh as she shakes her head. “Yes, Malfoy, I made it back from the graveyard alive. There was nothing there.”

“You didn’t owl.” He points out, impatient almost. “How was I supposed to know?” He asks, and it’s faint but she thinks there is actual worry there, along his brow and in the snappiness of his voice; she learns something new about him each time they interact.

She shrugs, however, head tilting to the side a touch. “You could have owled _me._ ” She says, the amusement still there, “instead of barging in here like a house was on fire.”

Draco wrinkles his nose, just a tough, cheeks slowly turning pink. “Well.” He says, and then stops, seemingly at a loss for things to say.

Hermione raises a brow, and then sighs and shakes her head, arms dropping. “I did more research and the fact is that the potion creates a visible effect before dissipating; basically, it just scares you and then stops. It doesn’t raise the dead, and doesn’t call back spirits from the beyond.” She says, “so when you so heroically saved me on Saturday, it was from some shaky ground, that’s all.”

Draco’s cheeks are definitely pink now, ears turning as well. His pale skin was good for this kind of reaction, and she found that she truly enjoys eliciting it from him. “You mean to tell me, that you didn’t know what the potion would _do_ before you brewed it and then carelessly upended it onto a _grave?_ ” He asks, seeming a little upset with her, truth be told, which she isn’t expecting if she’s honest.

“I, well no. I knew the reported potential, of course, that’s why I chose it. But after seeing that there were no effects, I went out to find _more._ ” She explains, feeling a little defensive and uncertain why she feels so.

Draco looks at her for a second, face unreadable to her. His lips press together in a thin line, and it seems like maybe he’s… “You _could_ find more information, it was possible, but yet you, you used a potion that likely hasn’t been brewed in a century without… Granger I knew you were a Gryffindor in school but I hadn’t pictured you as the _reckless._ ” He says, and it’s a little harsh sounding, but mostly it’s clear that he is worried, was worried, had been worried.

“I had a timeline.” She says, a little defensive, sitting straight in her chair now and frowning softly. “And I _had_ looked into it, but results were inconclusive, and the best way to deal with that is to test it.” She says, and again she is defensive.

Draco gives her a look, the kind that makes you feel approximately 3 feet tall and rather idiotic. “You could have hurt yourself.” He says, and the way he says it is like he’s trying not to sound like he cares and more like he’s reprimanding her. It works, of course, but Hermione thinks that’s just something he’s good at.

“I didn’t.” She says, again feeling defensive. “Besides, you were there.”

“I almost wasn’t.” He says, and she shrugs.

“But you were.”

Draco sighs, lips pursing again. “You’re a nightmare.” He settles on saying, before turning for the door, running away maybe.

“That’s rather harsh, don’t you think?” She asks, feeling it a little more than maybe he intended, but then she has such a hard time reading Draco. “I did the research I could with the time I was given, and then I checked further after to corroborate the results I had seen. It’s normal.” She says, clinical, easy, scientific.

Draco pauses, frown facing the door, hand on the knob. “You didn’t owl.” He says, settles on, and then the door is open and he’s gone.

Hermione watches him go, confused. Draco is strange, she knows this, knows he’s got antiquated views and knows he’s new to thinking about people who are not himself. She just can’t really accept or understand why he might be so upset with her right now.

She shakes her head and puts it from her mind for the moment so she can work. She’ll consider it further later, consider Draco Malfoy and all of his strange little quirks and this strange little conversation.

~


End file.
